It's During Our Pain That We Find Solace
by laugh-cry-live
Summary: Booth comforts Brennan after the events of "The Pain in the Heart." Please read and review!


Betrayal

**Author's Note:** Please let me know what you think of the story by reviewing!

**Thanks to my beta's** over at LiveJournal: tealtalitha and typingwithmit10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fox, Bones, or anything really. I'm a college student.

"**It's During Our Pain That We Find Solace"**

Betrayal.

It stings like a slap in the face, but the pain lingers long after the shock has worn off. It stings and burns and twists your stomach to the point of nausea. It makes you want to rebuild those concrete walls around your heart and never trust anyone again.

But _he_ won't let you do that.

He drives you home, stopping for some takeout on the way. When he parks the car in front of your apartment building, you sit there, lost in thought, and hurt, and betrayal, until he walks around and opens your door for you.

In the elevator you lean against the wall and close your eyes. Images of third-degree burns and mandibles and pain overwhelm you. Sighing, you open your eyes to find him staring at you. You try to smile - to tell him you're okay, even though it's a lie - but your lips won't move. They're set into a frown and you can't find the energy to change that.

The bell dings when you arrive on your floor and he puts his hand on the small of your back as you walk out of the elevator.

You get to your door and realize he's waiting for you.

_Oh right, the key._

You dig through your purse, searching for your keys, until your eyes are so blurry you can't see a thing. He reaches out and takes your purse, fumbling through your things until he finds the key.

You expect him to make a joke about women and their purses.

He doesn't.

He unlocks the door and throws your purse over his shoulder, waiting for you to go in front of him. You look up at him in gratitude and he smiles broadly. You know that in any other situation he would never be caught dead with a purse on his shoulder, and you're thankful that he'd do that for you. He places his hand on the small of your back again, and urges you forward until you sink heavily onto your couch.

You watch as he puts your purse on the small table beside the door, hangs your keys on the hook on the wall, and sheds his jacket… like he does this every day.

He walks into the kitchen with the takeout. You want to go help but the couch is too soft, too familiar. You can hear him in the kitchen - cabinets opening and closing, forks and knives clattering, the rattling of takeout containers.

You lean back and close your eyes but snap them open almost immediately when a face appears in your mind. A face you never thought capable of _murder_. Zack.

Then Booth is there, handing you a plate and a glass of wine. You take the wine and he sits the plate on the coffee table in front of you. He goes back into the kitchen and returns with a plate of his own and a beer. The couch gives as he settles beside you and eats in silence. He doesn't turn on the television.

You know how hard it is for him to sit in silence and for some reason his simple gesture makes your eyes water. You sniff and hastily wipe your eyes, trying to hold it together until he leaves.

He sits his empty plate beside your full one on the coffee table and angles his body slightly so that he's facing you. You know he wants you to respond but you can't look at him. You know his eyes will break you - so you stand up, happy to have the excuse of doing dishes.

You reach forward to grab his plate but his warm fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.

"Temperance..." His eyes are gentle and full of concern and you feel your shoulders start to sag from the stress of the day. The fact that he used your first name proves that he knows you're hurting.

You can feel fresh tears pricking at your eyelids so you look up, hoping gravity will keep them from falling. It isn't enough, and one tear escapes and slides down your cheek, leaving a hot, salty trail. And another follows.

You hang your head, knowing that your control is slipping, and you bite your trembling lip. He sees it.

He stands slowly and wraps his arms around you.

You stand stiffly in his embrace until he whispers against your ear, "You don't have to be tough for me, Bones. Not tonight." And that's it. Something in your chest shatters and a strangled sob escapes your lips. Your hands grasp at his shirt. Your body sags against his and he supports you. You're crying like a child, sobbing and trying to catch your breath at the same time.

"Shh, it's okay…" He eases you both down onto the couch until you're sitting in his lap. You bury your face against his shoulder and grip his upper arms. You can feel the power, the strength, poised there, and you feel like somehow you can feed off of that strength, that his arms around you will make you stronger. Somehow they must because you're not crumbling into pieces.

Eventually you stop crying but he doesn't let go and neither do you. He's rubbing your back and it feels nice. Better than nice. It feels… _right_.

Finally you sigh, exhausted. Your face is hot and your eyes are swollen. You rest in his arms for a few minutes until you come to your senses and realize that you've crossed _the line_.

You move off of his lap and take your original seat. He stands. You look up at him and feel a panic start to rise in your chest. He's walking away from you. He's leaving and you're scared that without him you won't be able to handle the pain.

"Please stay," you whisper, your voice ragged and worn.

He turns around and looks down at you and there is so much comfort in his eyes that you feel like his arms are around you again.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says in a low voice as he stares into your eyes. Then, as if to reassure you, he brings his hand to your face and softly brushes your jaw line with his knuckles.

He turns around again, grabs the plates, and heads back into the kitchen.

As he does the dishes, you look around your apartment. Books, scientific journals, medical encyclopedias… you live in a house of logic. Now, for the first time, logic has failed you. Zack used logic to justify murder. It's no longer the unwavering paradigm you thought it was and you shiver because you feel lost. You need something stable to depend on.

Booth returns and eases his shoes off, nudging them side-by-side near the door. Then he walks over to you and kneels.

You're confused until his warm hand slides around your ankle. He takes off your shoes and places them carefully beside the couch. Then he stands up, in front of you, and reaches down to help you out of your stiff blazer.

You're wearing an olive green tank top below it and his rough hand grazes your shoulder before he eases the jacket down your arms. You shiver as the cold air hits your skin. He tosses the jacket aside and grabs a blanket off of the back of your armchair.

Sitting down right beside you, leaving half of the couch empty, he wraps the blanket around your shoulders.

You look over at him, at his snug cotton t-shirt and his soft eyes, his comforting arms and his warm body. Then, you give in to the urge to be in his arms again. Leaning in, you rest your cheek against his chest and curl your legs beneath you. He pulls you closer.

For a few minutes neither of you move. And, instead of feeling awkward or nervous, you're both at ease with each other.

You look down to see his hand resting, palm up, on his leg. Then, before thinking about it, before rationalizing or weighing the pros and cons, you slide your hand into his.

His hand twitches at your touch but then curls around your own.

You focus on how easily your hand fits into his until the exhaustion starts to overwhelm you. Tilting his head back, he looks down at you and catches your eyelids sliding closed.

Carefully, he shifts his body and lies back on the couch, pulling you with him until your practically lying on top of him. Your head is resting against his chest, moving up and down with each breath he takes. You're surprised at how much that rhythm, and his warmth, is comforting you.

You want to thank him but you're too exhausted. Instead, you turn your head and place a soft, tired kiss against his shirt. He's still for a moment, and then he moves a hand to stroke your hair. It feels good to be held like this - to be held by a man you can trust, by a man that you love.

And that's when you realize - it's so clear that you're jarred completely awake by the recognition - Booth loves you. And you love him.

You concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his chest, thinking, trying to figure out how long you've loved him. You can't pinpoint a timeline. It must have happened somewhere between the cups of coffee and the pieces of pie, somewhere between the smiles and the bickering.

You realize that you can no longer depend on logic like you used to. In return you have something - rather, someone - else that you can depend on. You have a constant in your life. Booth.

You've spent so much effort keeping Booth a safe distance from your heart that you've missed how much of an impact he's made on you. He's helped you, saved you, pushed you, caught you, so many times. Yet what have you done for him?

_Brain and heart. _You remember the phrase that Booth told you months ago, and you know that it's time to let your heart take the wheel.

Lying there in Booth's arms, you finally make the decision to open yourself up to him. It's time to try to give back to him. Not because you owe him, but because you can't deny your feelings any longer.

You can no longer deny to yourself, or to Booth, what it is that you want…

You want to watch him hang his keys beside yours on that hook by the door. You want to watch him shed his jacket after a long day. You want to cook him macaroni and cheese. You want to make love to him.

And even though the sting of Zack's betrayal will still be there tomorrow, you know you'll make it. You'll make it because Booth will make sure that you do, and, from now on, he will know just how much you appreciate that.

_FIN_


End file.
